


Keep Me High?

by ashensunsets



Category: Euphoria (2019), Euphoria (TV 2019)
Genre: Coming of Age, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, F/F, Overdose, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 00:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashensunsets/pseuds/ashensunsets
Summary: "It’s Jules, standing before Rue across the counter. Rue’s twenty-one now, four months clean, two months working as a cashier at the Walmart off the crossroads. Rue takes her break and listens, to the fancy art studio Jules is working at, to the writer that she almost settled down with, to the past tense, to the 'd', to the 'loved', until she can’t take it anymore and asks her about it. And Jules just gives her a sad smile and says, 'I loved you. But not as much you hated yourself'."





	Keep Me High?

**Author's Note:**

> HIIIIIII.  
> So YouTube had an ad for Euphoria, and I saw Zendaya and just went 😍😍😍 and immediately fell in love with this show, I literally cannot wait for June. This is just a quick little thing, don't consider it an actual story cuz it's too brief for me to actually convey what I want with Rue, her relationships with others, and her addictions.  
> Also, this was written before the pilot dropped and before I got any info on Jules. I don't think last names were even in the picture yet. Anyway, everything's pretty OOC causr I didn't know the characters yet so keep that in mind.

“I love you.”   
It’s her mom, and she’s thirteen years old, sitting in the passenger seat after being discharged from the hospital. It’s her first overdose, her first disappointment. They won’t be her last.

“I love you.”   
It’s her brother, Ian, and she’s fourteen years old, sitting on the monkey bars of a long since forgotten playground. It’s her birthday, and he was supposed to be here, he said he’d be here. Rue tucks the letter back into its envelope, then rolls a blunt and lets the smoke fill her lungs until she stops coughing and she stops hurting. 

“I love you.”

It’s her father, from beyond the grave in an acid trip. She’s fifteen years old, collapsed out in the school parking lot after a disastrous prom date with a senior whose name she can’t remember. People are gathering round, taking pictures, pointing fingers, the works. All the while, father’s standing above her, smiling, sadly, and saying the words he never got the chance to say.

“I love you.”

It’s her girlfriend, Tionni. She’s sixteen years old, sitting in Tionni’s bathtub underneath the chilling spray of water. Tionni’s gone kind of still, and her chest isn’t moving. Rue giggles, hopped up on whatever it was Tionni brought her, and presses back into her, staring until the little dots of black afflicting her field of vision overwhelm her and drag her under. 

“I love you.”

It’s her roommate. She’s seventeen years old, six months into rehab. Rue says, “I love you, too” and holds out a hand. The girl, whatever her name is, drops three blue pills into her hand, then crawls up into her bunk and passes out. Rue takes the pills, one at a time. She doesn’t bother checking what they are. She just needs something, anything, to make her feel again. 

“I love you.”

It’s Jules. She’s eighteen years old, standing at the pier, watching as color and lights blossom over their heads, raining ashes and pollution back down onto them. Jules presses their heads together, and Rue thinks,  _ This is high _ , and tosses her pack of cigarettes into the sand. 

“I love you.”   
It’s Jules again. It’s a couple of months later, seven months later, and she’s clean this time, really clean. And she’s realizing just how hard a thing that is when you really want it. She looks up at Jules, watches the color of the TV splash onto her face, and wonders just how long this high’ll last before she crashes and goes looking for another.

“I love you.”   
It’s Rue. She’s nineteen years old, screaming this to Jules, tossing jeans, sneakers, a compact mirror, anything she can get her hands on at her. Beside her, her shoebox of weed, pills, cigarettes, and coke is empty, lying on its side like a birthday present gone wrong. Jules is staring down at her, arms crossed and eyes weary as she waits for Rue to tire herself out. When she does, Jules crouches beside her, takes her face in her hands, and asks, “Are you high?” Rue says, “Hate me, hate me, hate me, HATE ME”. And she hates herself, hates herself until she crashes and burns into Jules's arms. 

“I love you.”   
It’s the ghost of Jules, off at Harvard or the Art Institute or wherever the fuck she’s fucked off to. Rue’s twenty. She’s locked in her closet, headphones up loud so that maybe it’ll take her hearing. The ghost is not a ghost but a recording, a video in her email that she forgot to erase in her mad quest to cleanse herself of that shiny, glittery, pretty little doll. But there she, there’s Jules, draped across her lap in the back seat of a Chevy, smiling up at her with big, brown eyes, and saying those words that Rue’s always heard but never deserved. 

Rue tosses her phone into the ceiling, laughs at the glass and plastic that pricks at her cheeks, and takes in a deep breath of her bong. 

“We love you.”

It’s Ian and her mother, in the midst of a rather heated family therapy session. They want someone to blame, something to make some sense of how the sweet, bright-eyed girl they once knew turned into the lifeless zombie sitting across from them. The therapist, a woman in a button-up, nods to Rue and asks, “Rue, do you have anything to say to that?” 

Rue just continues to stare out the window. She doesn’t let them see her cry. 

“Why don’t you love you?”   
It’s Rue. She’s dreaming, watching herself get high, get wasted, all in the pursuit of happiness while pushing away all the things that could have gave her just that. She wakes up, crawls out of bed, and eats breakfast with her mother.

She cleans herself up. Starts showering, starts eating, starts talking. Her mom looks at her with eyes like a deer’s on the road, just before it’sturned into roadkill. Like she’s afraid Rue’s gonna fall and put them through this all over again. And the funny thing is, Rue’s scared, too. And she figures  _ Maybe that means something _ .

“I love you.”   
It’s her mother. Rue slides out of the passenger seat and onto the crosswalk. She stares up at the building, rubs a finger over the One Day sober button on her belt, and licks her lips. She turns around to look back into the car and, feeling tears gathering in her eyes, says, “Thank you”. Then she turns and leaves.

“I loved you.”   
It’s Jules, standing before Rue across the counter. Rue’s twenty-one now, four months clean, two months working as a cashier at the Walmart off the crossroads. Rue takes her break and listens, to the fancy art studio Jules is working at, to the writer that she almost settled down with, to the past tense, to the “d”, to the “loved”, until she can’t take it anymore and asks her about it. And Jules just gives her a sad smile and says, “I loved you. But not as much you hated yourself”.

Rue takes her home. To her mother, to Ian, to her niece. They all look at her funny, like they always look at the good people she brings home, probably wondering how long it’ll be before it ends. But they never ask that, and Rue never brings it up. She just tells them that she’s an old friend, and that’s enough.

Rue’s twenty-two now. No one’s telling her they love her, not after she’s told them to stop (‘like’ and ‘adore’ tend to work their way in every now and again though). She’s got her GED, and she’s applying to schools, her shoulders and her spirits falling as, one by one, she gets rejected. Rue opens the letter from a state college up north, and Jules is there, holding her hand even when Rue’s grip grows to be too much. 

She got in. 

“Can I love you again?”

It’s Jules. Rue’s twenty-three, and they’re sitting face-to-face in their squat apartment just off the river. Their eyes are both red, and there’s tears streaking down their cheeks. Rue pulls Jules against her and smashes their lips together. When she pulls away, she sobs and tucks her face into Jules’s neck, gasping out gratitudes and apologies and promises.

“I love you.”   
Jules, again. Rue’s twenty-four; she’s wearing her ring and just---feeling; feeling all the happiness, all the bliss, all the euphoria, and being scared to death that it won’t last, that something’ll come in and knock her delicate scales off balance and send her careening down the abyss of addiction of feelgood of carelessness. 

But Jules is sitting there, beside her as they dance about the pool, and she just looks so happy, so beautiful, so  _ willing _ . And when Rue searches herself, pokes and prods at her soul, she finds no reasons for doubt. She’s clean, she knows where she’s going, and she, too, feels happy. 

Rue tilts her head back and dips so that only her head is above water. She wraps her arms around Jules’s neck and sets the side of her head against her chest. And for the first time in forever, she says, “I love you, too”. 


End file.
